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Box is a good friend of mine from way down in Waxahachie/Red Oak. His comments are the really long/awesome ones on entries like “The Awkward Dramatic Phone Call,” “What I’m Going to Do Now That I’m Famous,” and the announcement entry, “Special Considerations.”

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A Day in the Life of Box

by Kevin Spaccavento

Kevin "Box" Spaccavento

Howdy boys and girls. My name is Kevin Louis Spaccavento, but you may call me Box. No, check that. You will call me Box. Better. Now that that awkwardness is out of the way, let me tell you a bit about myself and what I like to do on a typical Tuesday afternoon.

I am a very tender and caring young man, but I also own a handgun, so don’t get any ideas. I am not what you would call a physically attractive male person. However, I do possess a very classic grace and beauty you could only find in a cave man (I’m talking Flintstones caveman, not Geico caveman.). Any who, I have begun to get a bit sick and fed up with just how soft around the edges I have become. When a man of my age and stature becomes this soft around the edges, women start to think of us as being more like a comfy, cuddly teddy bear rather than the hardened sex-machines that we really are. Don’t believe me…just ask your mom. Yeah that’s right! Either way, I just cannot have this at all. I have been going to the local YMCA for a few weeks now, to try and work my ass into a better shape than its in. And so, I have just set you all up for what my day was like this past Tuesday.

I wake sometime around 9:26 am. This does not settle well with me, so I roll back over and snooze until 10:41 am. That’s better. I get up to let my dog Roxy out to do her doggy business. She is so adorable when she does her doggy business. I go back to my room and watch about two hours of First Take on ESPN 2 before I get ready to head on over to the gym. I don’t know why but something about watching Skip Bayless being the biggest asshat who ever lived really gets me pumped to go sweat and glower for a while. I get my gym bag all nice and packed, put my iPod in its nifty little armband holder, let my poor dog back in the house, and head on out. I am really feelin’ it today. I am about to work my ass into a blind stupor. This exercise thing has really given me the chance feel in tune with my body and how far I can push it. The other day, I stayed on the treadmill until my right arm went numb. I loved it. My heart probably did not. I arrived at the Y just in time for the kiddies at the pool to be able to see how good I was starting to look. Yeah, they knew. I walked in the front door, ready to flash the girl at the desk my keychain, when she stopped me.

“Sorry…we are all full right now,” she said to me. I gave my head a little turn only to notice all of three people in the workout area.

“What are you talking about?…there is like nobody in there right now!” I said right back to her.

“I know….we’re too full for you right now,” she says. And so my mood quickly changes from happy to very confused.

“Why is it only full to me?” I ask her. This time, there is clearly a hint of aggravation in my voice.

“Many of the patrons have complained about a terrible smell coming from you whenever you work out, and that you don’t wipe your sweat off the machines after you use them.”

“And this is a problem for you?” Evidently it was. “I would like to speak to your superior if you do not mind.”

I thought maybe there was something I may have done to upset just this girl, and that another YMCA staff person would give me the green light. This was wishful thinking. A tall, older man with a badge that said Larry on it came walking up. He looked as if he had been waiting for me, because before I could even plead my case with this guy, he immediately gave me his shpeal of what the girl had told me. Only meaner and more threatening like.

“If you can promise to clean up before coming here, we would be more than happy to allow you use of the building’s facilities. Otherwise, you are going to have to leave, sir.”

This shit was absolutely not gonna fly with me. I curiously look down, and say, “Oh my, what is that spot right there on your nice clean floor?” Larry bends his head over the counter to see what I was talking about. Big mistake Larry. Like a cat, I swiftly put the man into an old school headlock, bringing him as close to my armpit as I possibly could. I have at this point in the day, not showered yet. (And why the fuck should I shower? I’m going to the gym to sweat out what has to be close to a quart of fresh, squeezed Box juice.)

“Alright good sir. If you can look me in the eye, and honestly tell me that this is not the best fresh, ripe young Italian-American male you have ever smelled, I will kindly cancel my membership and leave right now, never to return again.” I told him.

At this moment, I could begin to tell that his eyes were quickly filling up with tears and his mouth was quickly filling up with vomit. I had gotten my point across. I let him go and he stumbled for dear life towards the restroom area. I grabbed my bag and headed out towards the door with my dignity left bruised but not quite broken. On the way out, I happened to spot that cute girl who works at the YMCA that always smiles and says hi to me whenever I come in. Realizing that she most likely witnessed everything that had just transpired, I quickly shot her one of those smile-wink-and-point-like-your-firing-a-pistol moves at her, hoping this might preserve any ounce of a decency thought she may have once had about me. This immediately makes her loins quiver with sheer orgasmic joy, or so the expression on her face leads me to believe. (note: This expression could mean something entirely different, such as, “Never ever in my life have I been more grossed out.”)

After the failed work out, I go get a snowcone. Cherry. Mmmm cherry. I spill the entire thing all over me on the drive back home. Shit, I just got red snowcone all over blue appholstery. Could this day possibly suck any worse? No, not really. I go home and write all of the days events down in my diary. I keep it all pretty honest. All except for the part where I have pre-marital sex with cute YMCA girl in her parent’s driveway. (I say pre-marital because I’m just not sure if I’m ready to look at her as being “wife material”)

The house gets a phone call around 8:20 pm, and my parents say it’s for me. It’s Larry’s attorney informing me that Larry has decided to file suit against me for today’s little “misunderstanding”. I have no lawyer or money. I immediately regret taking this phone call. Rather than panic, I simply inform the guy that he is a big poopy head who just robs money from the poor, and is a cancer on society. I also tell him that I will counter suit, and use the race card on him as often during the case as I possibly can. Check and mate, Larry and Law Offices of Branton and Whitesmith.

“Man, I’m gonna sleep good tonight!” I thought to myself. And I certainly did. Fin.